It Started with a Smile
by your.kat
Summary: A collection of any Brenna x Greer ficlets I write. Every chapter will essentially be standalone.
1. It Happened One Night

_(A/N: Post-episode 1x05.)_

She hadn't meant to text Greer. Honestly, her finger had just slipped.

But now that the other girl's warmth was pressing against her side, now that those fingers were squeezing her shoulder in a comforting, easy fashion, Brenna wondered why she had ever hesitated.

Kieran was good. His lips were soft, his face was pretty, his convictions were strong. But maybe his lips just weren't soft enough, maybe his face didn't smile as often as Brenna needed, maybe his convictions were _too_ strong.

It had been two years since her father had left. Two years since she'd heard his goofy optimism in spite of burnt scrambled eggs, or his light and easy advice, or his laugh, so full of life. And Brenna had felt emptiness at his passing, _of course_ she had, but she had filled that dead – or dying – space up. She had filled it to the brim. And the closest filling at hand had been cynicism. Disdain. Scorn. Maybe a little bit of hate, if she was being honest with herself.

And Kieran, he was all of those things, wrapped up in a prettily tattooed package. _'My sister has cancer'_ had been met with a hastily proclaimed _'It's a government conspiracy, man'_, and really, why had she even been surprised?

Greer was soft, and Brenna wasn't just thinking that because she was so comfortable in that moment, being held. She'd hustled the girl on the tennis court, watched her twist her ankle and still hit the turf with a smile on her face. She rolled with every sarcastic, underhanded punch Ford threw at her, and she had the guts to wear head-to-toe pink.

She was a mystery to Brenna, one that she might've understood better in a different life. But there was one thing Brenna had been certain of: she was scared of being comforted, scared of _needing_ comfort; and she knew Kieran wasn't the person to go to for this particular brand. So her finger, it had slipped. She had asked. And Greer hadn't hesitated, not for a single second.

Brenna had made a valiant effort to hold back the tears. But they came all the same. They rushed from her body, sweet relief given form. This didn't make things better – there wasn't much that could. But this made things _lighter_, if only for just a moment.

Every second felt like an eternity, so prolonged and somehow quietly important. Yet time also seemed to fly by, and Brenna started to feel guilty.

"I shouldn't keep you any longer," she muttered. The side of her face was still pressing into Greer's jacket. She kept her eyes shut tightly. Neither of them made a move to pull away, despite her words.

"It's okay," Greer simply replied.

So they sat awhile longer. And the silence continued to surround them, a comforting veil of friendship – and of something more, maybe, something that Brenna was still trying to understand.

There was something about this girl, something that made it easy to ask for and accept comfort. And while that felt good – so very, very good – it also felt ridiculously scary. Brenna knew she was a lot like her sister in that regard; it wasn't easy for them to ask, and it was even harder for them to receive.

An uneasiness filled her stomach – manifesting like butterflies, she'd say, if she had to pin the feeling down. Kieran was not _fun_, exactly, but he was what Brenna expected of herself. Greer was opposite in every way possible – and Brenna found herself wondering if she was strong enough to redefine almost her entire existence. Again.

"It's a long walk," Brenna finally whispered. She could have kicked herself for feeling the need to end the moment. It had been so easy, she could've gotten lost in it. And maybe that was why she spoke up. "Let me walk you back to your car."

As she pulled back, she hesitated to look Greer in the eye. Pity, that's probably what she would see. Or else a weird, unbearable kind of sympathy. But Brenna had to know. A part of her wanted to see, if only to test her own sense of judgment. Had this all been a mistake? Should she have handled her feelings on her own?

Brenna looked up. She felt residual wetness from her tears, caught in her eyelashes. She blinked, wondering how pathetic she must look to the other girl. She braced herself, held her breath…

And when Brenna caught sight of that bright smile, those sparkling eyes, that radiance – she wondered why she had ever expected anything else.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, to reprogram herself a bit.

"It's not that long of a walk, but I'd appreciate the company. Do you need a ride home?"

Brenna could've pinched herself; her smile was too wide, she just knew it.

"Yeah, that'd be great."

They walked side by side all the way back to the parking lot. Their shoulders kept bumping, and they would smile softly, shyly at the other every single time. But Greer was clearly following Brenna's lead, essentially keeping things subdued and silent between them. Brenna didn't know how to express her gratitude – how to explain that it was exactly what she needed, right then.

Sitting in the passenger seat of Greer's car, Brenna felt cold. They had been in contact ever since Greer had wrapped her arm around Brenna's shoulder, and now the eight inches of interior between them felt like a mile. Brenna pressed the palms of her hands against her thighs as they pulled out of the parking lot, willing herself not to beg for the connection to be back in place—

But just like that, Greer's hand was resting on top of hers. It was a simple gesture, but Brenna could have burst into tears at the instant relief she felt. She would have, actually, if Greer hadn't started to sing along to the latest Katy Perry song at the top of her lungs.

Still contemplating how to explain how important this all had been, Brenna found them back at her home all too soon. The car stopped, the radio was switched off, and Greer was turned slightly towards her in the driver's seat. And still, they were quiet.

Brenna took a deep, shuddering breath to steady herself. Then she turned, looked directly into that unwavering gaze, and said the only words worth saying.

"Thank you."

Greer smiled – _of course_ she did.

"Anytime, Brenna."

She squeezed Brenna's hand softly, clearly waiting on the cue signifying that the moment was completely over.

Brenna found some bravery deep within herself, and she placed her right hand over Greer's, rubbing the smooth skin of the girl's wrist with her thumb.

And then she got the hell out of there.

What would Ford say? What would Kieran say?

But with every step towards her front porch, Brenna realized that she was already caring less and less about the answers to those questions.


	2. The Case of the Missing Meet-Cute

_(A/N: I imagine that this is set between episodes 1x05 and 1x06.)_

They always managed to run into each other on the quad between fifth and sixth periods. Brenna was pretty sure Greer premeditated it, to be honest.

But one day, there was no meet-cute. Not that Brenna mentally referred to those moments as such – but of course, Greer did, and on a regular basis.

Ford sat next to Brenna, chattering on and on about another ridiculous social gathering her parents were making her attend in two days. Brenna caught key words like '_mainstream_' and '_the patriarchy_'. It was typical of their conversations, and she would normally have been more attentive. But it was half past noon and there was something missing – a certain smile, a particular fluttering in the pit of her stomach that she had allowed herself to become accustomed to.

Greer had made it a habit to share a smile and a word or two with Brenna as she was crossing the quad from history to math, and Brenna had made it a habit of pretending like her response – a ridiculous smile, most typically – was not out of the ordinary.

But it _was_ out of the ordinary, for Brenna.

Today, however, instead of looks that teetered precipitously close to flirtatious and an eye roll from Ford, Brenna just felt a whole lot of emptiness. And maybe a small pit of worry beginning to form deep in her stomach.

She managed to make it all the way through the rest of the school day and halfway home before she texted Greer. She typed the message in just a couple of seconds, but then she stared at it for a full two minutes before finally sending it.

_I missed you today._

That was simple enough, right? It conveyed her disappointment at not seeing the girl, but it didn't sound _desperate_, either.

Brenna got off at her stop and started walking the last few blocks to her house. Her phone was clutched tightly in her hand, and she nearly jumped when the vibration finally came through, signifying a return text.

_I'm sick :(_

Brenna's heart dropped. She stopped walking, trying to plant her feet in order to cease the spinning of the world for a moment.

_Just the normal kind of sick, Brenna._

The second text came quickly on the heels of the first, and Brenna couldn't have been more appreciative. A breath of relief escaped her chest, even though she knew it was ridiculous to have expected anything else.

_You know, the kind where all you want to do is drink 7-Up and watch animal planet all day?_

Brenna teetered on her toes in the middle of the sidewalk. She contemplatively chewed on the inside of her cheek before decidedly typing out a response.

_Are you fully stocked? Need chicken soup or something?_

_Oh God,_ Brenna blanched the second she hit send. _I sound like a complete idiot. Like her family doesn't have Campbell's in the cupboard already. Way to go, Brenna._

She sighed and continued walking home. Her inner-chastisement was soon interrupted by another text.

_You know what, my mom is doing a low salt diet thing, and we don't have a single can of soup in the house. Chicken soup would be unbelievable. But I don't want you to have to go to all that trouble, I'll just do without until I feel good enough to go out and get some myself._

This time, Brenna didn't hesitate or second-guess her reply.

_Don't be silly. I'll be there as soon as I can._

She smiled to herself and then ran the last half-block to her house. Climbing the steps two at a time, she burst inside and made a beeline for the kitchen. With a quick hello to her grandma and a kiss to the woman's cheek, Brenna grabbed a can of chicken noodle soup and a package of saltines and then bounded back out of the house, stuffing the items into her bag as she went.

As Brenna walked determinedly towards the nearest T stop, she thought about the nauseated, terrified reaction she had experienced at the possibility of Greer being sick. Why had she nearly panicked at the thought?

_Because we're friends, obviously_, she thought to herself. It was normal for friends to be worried about each other. It was normal for friends to long to see each other. But was it normal for friends to long _for_ each other?

She was jostled by the crowd and ended up back in reality, just in time to catch the next train to her intended destination.

When Brenna arrived at Greer's home, she experienced a fair amount of intimidation by the incredible façade of the building. It was a gorgeous home, to say the least. But Brenna didn't experience any of the usual derision she felt when she thought of the typical 'preppy' kids that went to her school. Somehow, this house and the staff that inevitably helped maintain it and the likely quite lavish furnishings all seemed…_normal_ to Brenna. Because they were part of Greer's existence, they were somehow less foreign, less excessively extravagant. Greer was part of a certain crowd, yes, but Brenna had already come to see that she was a lot more than that.

She rang the doorbell.

Very quickly, a sharply dressed woman answered.

"You must be Brenna," she said, smiling kindly and gesturing for Brenna to step inside.

"Yeah, thanks," Brenna replied. She took in the foyer and smiled at the numerous pictures she saw of Greer lining the walls.

"Greer's room is up the stairs to the third floor, then straight ahead. Shall I show you the way?"

"Umm, no, that sounds simple enough." Brenna opened her bag and extracted the can of soup. "I brought this for her," she finished lamely, handing it off to the woman. She didn't really know how to ask her to do something with it; it all felt too much like ordering someone around.

Luckily, the woman had a great deal of tact.

"Oh, how nice of you. I'll have it warmed up and sent up in about half an hour, okay?"

"Great, thanks! I'll just, umm—"

"You go right ahead, dear."

Brenna made the climb to the third floor. She took in every detail along the way, all the while imagining Greer living in this space – the way her hand must touch this banister the same way, how she'd drop her tennis bag just there, if she'd sit beneath that particular window while reading a book…

"Ugh, Brenna, what is wrong with you?" she mumbled to herself before climbing the last couple of steps. "Ridiculous sentimental nonsense…"

Greer's room was straight ahead. Brenna knew it when she saw it – the pink, embellished letters spelling out the girl's name were a dead giveaway.

The door was closed. Brenna tapped her knuckles lightly against the wood.

There was no answer. She bit her lip. Finally, she slowly twisted the doorknob, trying to make as little noise as possible. Opening the door just enough to squeeze inside, Brenna entered the room. She softly shut the door behind her and then took in the sight before her.

The television in the room was on, and some nature show was playing quietly in the background. The covers of the bed were quite tousled, and Brenna could just make out a shock of blond hair at the head of the bed.

"Greer?" she whispered.

There was no response.

She moved closer. Greer was clearly sleeping. Brenna watched her for a few seconds. There was a certain veil of peacefulness over her facial features that made it hard to look away.

Finally, Brenna lowered herself to sit on the edge of the bed. The movement was just enough to slightly rouse her friend. Eyelids fluttered open.

"Hey," Greer breathed out. And, somehow, she smiled.

"Hey yourself."

Brenna didn't know what came over her next. But she couldn't resist – it was like an invisible force caused her hand to move of its own accord, and the next thing she knew, she was pushing Greer's hair back from her face and tucking it behind her ear.

It was an intimate gesture, Brenna thought, surprised at herself. Maybe it was _too_ intimate? Maybe she had gone too far?

But the smile on Greer's face shone a few watts brighter, and her sleepy eyes closed languidly at the contact.

Emboldened by this response, Brenna left her hand gently resting on the side of Greer's face. Her thumb stroked the skin in front of the girl's ear. A soft mewling sound of contentment escaped from Greer's throat, and she tilted her head slightly, so that more of Brenna's skin was touching hers.

"I don't want to get you sick."

Brenna chuckled. "Yeah, please keep all of your cooties to yourself."

"Was that laughter I just heard, Brenna Carver?" Greer's voice came sleepily, but with a clear hint of amusement.

"Maybe," Brenna said. "I'm still imitating you, after all."

"Sincerest form of flattery, you know."

Brenna couldn't help but feel a softness in her heart as she stared at Greer. She could imagine exactly how she must look – like she was staring at a puppy or something.

Adoration, that was what she felt in her chest every time she thought of the other girl.

Nothing less. But…perhaps something more.

"Yeah," she sighed, a bit wistfully, "I know."


	3. Ford Ever Onward

_(A/N: Post-episode 1x06.)_

Maybe it wasn't the best idea for Brenna to reprimand a still-drunk Ford, but her fury would wait for nothing.

"I can't believe you did that. I should have let your parents deal with you," Brenna muttered, jerking Ford's heavy boots roughly off of her feet.

The other girl lay sprawled on her comforter. Brenna had managed to get her home, with help from Kieran. And they had somehow avoided getting caught by Ford's mom and dad – the girl would have been in for a world of retribution, and Brenna was really starting to think she deserved that and more.

Ford, on the other hand, still quite drunk but sobering up nicely in the wake of her spectacular vomit fest on Greer's belongings, was more concerned with something else.

"_Why_ have you been so _on edge_ today? It was a party. I was having fun. That's, like, what people _do_ at parties. _Hello_."

Brenna stood up straight, clenching her fists at her side and breathing deeply so as to control her temper and not completely destroy the mess of a girl before her.

"It was beyond rude, Ford. It was the most disrespectful thing you could have possibly done. It was juvenile, and I hope you have the _worst_ hangover tomorrow."

"What, do you _like her_ or something?" Ford drawled, her eyes slipping shut to stop the room from spinning.

With a sigh, Brenna shook her head and went about cleaning up the outer layers of clothing she'd helped Ford shed.

"I… She's cool, and it wasn't right to drink her parents' champagne and ruin a family heirloom."

Brenna stopped fidgeting and stood prone, thinking about Greer and how she must be feeling right then. Probably betrayed, possibly suffering from secondhand embarrassment. _Definitely_ distracting herself by burning her bed furnishings…

"No," Ford paused. She opened her eyes and caught sight of Brenna's still back. "I mean, do you _like her_, like her?"

Brenna breathed heavily. Her shoulders rose and fell, but she didn't say a word.

Ford had her answer.

"She represents everything we hate, Carver."

Brenna could have screamed at her supposed friend. She whirled around and pointed a chastising finger right between Ford's eyes.

"Does it make you happy, being so angry and spiteful all the time? Because I've been angry for a really long time, okay? Hell, I've been _full_ of anger since my dad left. But it wasn't until recently – it wasn't until _Greer_ – that I started to think about being happy and what that means. Not just losing the anger, Ford, but being _happy_. Really and truly _satisfied _with my life."

She stopped – bit her lip, shook her head – then continued again.

"Greer doesn't represent everything we hate, Ford, not even close. Because if we hate everything she is, then we hate kindness, and optimism, and, honestly, probably everything else that's good in the world. You're not doing anyone any favors by pretending that pessimism and cynicism are the most profound truths, all right?"

Ford didn't say a word. She just continued to lay prone, staring up at the ceiling. But it felt like the alcohol was leaving her system faster every second, and the words were making her brain pound painfully against the inside of her skull.

"And I could care less if you remember any of this tomorrow. I could care less if you change. Because I'm changing, you know? I'm allowed to change. And I can do it with or without you and your twisted sense of friendship."

As Brenna left the room, Ford expected her to slam the door loudly. Doing so would alert her parents to their mess of a daughter. It would have allowed Brenna to exact sweet, sweet revenge. But even as Ford braced herself for what she thought would be the inevitable crashing of the door in its frame, Brenna surprised her for what was probably the hundredth time that day: she closed the door quietly, slipping away like a whisper.

And that soft click felt like the punctuation mark at the end of whatever statement their friendship had been. Ford breathed in and out deeply through her nose. She felt like she was going to be sick again, but not because of the booze this time.


	4. Something Borrowed, Someone Blue

_(A/N: Post-episode 1x06.)_

The wedding dress wasn't necessarily ruined – but it was certainly worse for Ford's having worn it.

Not unexpected, given the girl's blood alcohol level and her drunken clumsiness. Brenna had done her best to clean up the mess, but it had been difficult given Greer's insistence they leave, and that they leave _now_.

It had been four days since the disastrous blue party, and three days since Brenna had heard from Greer.

There had been one text the day after the party. A brief exchange that had felt like a frigid breath of cold air wrapping itself around Brenna's heart.

_Hey, I'm really sorry. Can we please talk?_

It had been followed by a simple

_No._

The period had felt particularly definite. Brenna had responded with what she hoped was maturity, poise, grace: she had pouted, but she had pouted _silently._

But now, enough was enough.

Brenna typed another text – likely as futile as the first – and hit the send button with a feeling of great trepidation.

_I'm going to be at the coffee shop in exactly one hour. Please come talk to me. I have a lot to stay. And I promise to start with an apology. Anyway, I'll be there regardless. Hope to see you._

She waited three agonizingly full minutes, but no _'…' _showed up to signify an imminent response. Brenna closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose. She willed the tears away, willed them to stay away _so hard_ – but sometimes your best just isn't good enough.

The back of her hand was wet with moisture, wiped from her cheeks. They were tears tinged with regret and many other emotions: mostly anger, a bit of sadness, a pinch of frustration.

Brenna was angry that she had been so _stupid_ as to even _think_ about kissing Kieran in Greer's house – on Greer's _bed!_ How insensitive could she be? Apparently, _very_. And the fact that he had shown up in the first place… It had been a disorienting swirl, a dangerous mix of the two lives she had been living recently. Brenna wasn't afraid of living her life, but she was keen to do it on her own terms. But _why_ had she _kissed him?_

And what had Greer been about to say?

Brenna was also sad. It hurt her to see Greer hurting, and the pain was particularly sharp, achingly tangible, as she had been the one to cause said hurt. _'We hurt the ones we love'_, they say, but Brenna fell back onto her bed and groaned because _that just seems like idiocy_. It made her _sick_, the memory of Greer's upset face as she had run out of the room after Ford, a face so different from the one Greer had been wearing when they had been talking downstairs.

And then the interruption – but _what had Greer been about to say?_

The frustration though, a direct result of the amalgamation of emotions she'd been feeling, that was the part that had been making it difficult for Brenna to sleep the last few nights. What if she had introduced Kieran to Greer instead? What if she hadn't gone to the party at all? What if, what if, _what if?_

…What if they hadn't been interrupted in the first place – what words would have left Greer's lips, and how would that have changed…everything? Or…nothing?

Nothing, it currently was. But Brenna suspected it would have been _everything_, and so she hauled herself up out of bed and to her closet. A conversation had to be had.

She could only show up prepared and hope for the best.

\ \ \ \ \

Brenna sat down at a free tabletop early, of course. She initially sat facing the doorway, but that was too painful and anxiety-inducing. She turned her back, stirred her coffee, and waited. An identical drink sat across from her, mostly because Brenna had panicked as she was ordering, realizing that she didn't know how Greer took her coffee or even if she took it at all.

Another sigh. And still, she waited.

The hour mark came.

Thirty seconds.  
Forty-five.  
One minute.  
Two.

The hour mark went.

With her fingertips pressed to her forehead, Brenna closed her eyes and tried to stave off an encore of waterworks. And just as her bottom lip was threatening to quiver, she felt someone settle down in the chair across from her. Her eyes snapped open to reveal Greer – big sunglasses hiding those baby blue-greys.

"Greer," she breathed.

Greer simply nodded, tight-lipped. Brenna rushed to fulfill her promise, the words spilling from her in a stream of built-up remorse.

"I am so sorry, for everything – that Kieran even showed up in the first place, that Ford was left alone in your wardrobe to wreak havoc, that we didn't get to finish our conversation. I'm sorry that I repaid your kindness by letting a friend ruin what was probably a family heirloom. I'm just... I'm so sorry, Greer."

The other girl's face had been utterly impassive, and it was killing Brenna. She wanted to grip the edge of the table, maybe give it a little shake. Scream, _'Say something, say _anything_!' _But it wasn't that simple.

Maturity. Poise. Grace.

Brenna pulled on her bottom lip with her teeth. She remained silent, waiting.

Finally, Greer spoke. And Brenna honest to goodness thought it was going to be about _Kieran_ – though she _hoped_ it would be about the words that had been left unspoken. Instead, it was about—

"The dress was a complete mess."

"I know," Brenna replied understandingly, having chastised herself for days already. "Did you send it to the cleaners? Please give me the bill, it's absolutely the least I can do, and I'd do more if I could."

"The dress has been cleaned. That's beside the point."

"Ford was being ridiculous, I never should have left her alone. I really am sorry," Brenna tried again.

"You're just not getting it. That was supposed to be _my dress._"

By now, Brenna was acutely aware that Greer hadn't uttered her name once. It normally sounded so sweet as it slipped off of her tongue. Its absence was telling.

"It's still your dress," Brenna responded. Her voice was soft. She felt completely out of her element, whatever her element normally was.

Finally, Greer removed her sunglasses. Eyes as cold and sharp as steel met Brenna's, and Brenna found herself gulping once, hard.

"You don't understand," Greer sighed.

Brenna was afraid. She saw the blonde's façade threatening to crack.

"I want to understand, Greer. Please explain. I'm listening."

She must have imagined the slight tremble of Greer's chin, because the girl's voice was perfectly steady when next she spoke.

"Someday, I'll want to marry the person I'm with. I mean, I believe in love. It's bound to happen, right?" She carried on without waiting for a response. "I _know_ the dress is still mine, I _know_ that it can be cleaned a million and one times and it will still be as special as it was when my grandma wore it. But the physical dress is not the problem. I'll never be able to look at that dress again without picturing you on my bed with – with…" Her voice trailed away. She looked down at her hands. Brenna's brain was screaming at her to reach forward, to touch Greer's hand with her own, to share that connection with her – but she couldn't,_ she couldn't move_. And finally, Greer finished her sentence with a softly breathed, "_him_."

'_I'm sorry'_ didn't feel like the right thing to say. So Brenna was quiet for a moment, and then she chose to ask the question that had been killing her slowly.

"What were you going to say?" Greer's eyes connected with hers again. And this time, they shone with unshed tears. "Before you saw him across the room. What were you going to say?"

A shaky breath. "Brenna—"

Brenna tried not to be overtly pleased at the sound of her own name.

"Please, Greer."

A lifetime passed in the span of a few moments. And when Greer opened her mouth, something inside Brenna screamed that she would remember the words to come forever.

"I was going to say… That I like seeing you between classes. That I've only really been your friend for a little while, but I feel like I've seen your heart – and it is a strong heart, a kind heart, a heart worth knowing. That I didn't even really mind losing to you at tennis, because I got a shoulder to lean on for a while. That your smile is rare, but true. That I…that I don't like the thought of you kissing someone else, because I feel like you should be kissing _me_." Greer's eyes shone with such earnestness that it took all of Brenna's self-restraint not to leap the table. "That… Well, that's all, really."

Brenna swallowed and shook her head. "But, Greer," a sigh, this time laced with only a bit of disbelief but a great deal of awe, "that's _everything_."

"Thanks," Greer eventually said, speaking softly, "for the coffee." She smiled over the rim of the cup as she took a sip, and Brenna's heart beat a bit harder for a few beats.

"Thank _you_," Brenna replied, "you know, for talking to me again. Radio silence really sucks."

And when Brenna's fingers touched the back of Greer's hand, resting there comfortably between them, it felt like an awfully solid first step in the right direction.

Dresses could be replaced, after all, and desires could come and go. But this feeling Brenna was feeling, it felt a whole lot bigger than any of that.


End file.
